


A final farewell

by teztroll



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Memories, Pre-Game(s), Slash, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:10:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3564131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teztroll/pseuds/teztroll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevor visits Michael's grave to say his final farewell.<br/>Set a couple of months after the prologue.</p><p>Sadly enough, I don't own these characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A final farewell

Trevor paused as he stepped into the cemetery. Countless graves lay before him.  
_How the fuck was he supposed to know which one he was looking for?_  
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He could hear the wind rustle through the tree branches and a couple of birds singing in the distant, apart from that there was only silence. Trevor wondered for the hundredth time that day if he really could face what awaited him, but he knew that he had put it off for too long already. 

The last couple of months had been nothing but pure torture for him, only slightly numbed by the intake of colossal amounts of alcohol and meth. The fact that he hadn't overdosed yet was a miracle. In the rare moments of soberness during these weeks, he’d barely been able to breathe for the pain that tore inside him. He’d always been quick to dull those moments with more drugs. 

Trevor Philips was no stranger to pain. He’d been shot, stabbed and hit many times before. But this time was different. The pain had pulsated through his veins, clawed at his insides and made him dizzy and sick. There was no stopping it. No matter how many times he tried to accept what had happened, the pain still ripped him open. Michael was gone. Michael fucking Townley was dead. Fucking dead. He’d gone and left this world behind and left Trevor behind. And nothing, no matter the amount of meth or alcohol could ever numb the pain. 

_Nothing._

Trevor opened his eyes and exhaled, feeling tears burning behind his eyelids. He blinked several times, trying to fight them off, but to no use. With a whimper he fell to his knees and began to sob, quivering in the cool night breeze. He hugged himself tightly, not only to keep the cold away, but also and mostly, to try and keep himself from falling apart. He sat there for a moment, shaking violently, nose running and tears rolling down his cheeks, wondering how he would find the strength to ever move again. Then, as he thought of how his best friend would taunt him if he could see him like this, he took a deep breath, stood up and tried to pull himself together. It would not do to break down before he’d had a chance to take a proper farewell. He grabbed the paper bag he’d brought, containing two six packs and a bottle of whiskey and started to look for his friend’s grave.

Trevor hadn’t been able to come to the funeral. The risk of getting caught was too high. Policemen and FIB-agents had probably been swarming the place, hoping to catch the remainder of the crew if they’d been stupid enough to show their faces. The remainder of the crew meant him and Lester. And come to think about it, Trevor wasn’t even sure the police knew about Lester. That fat, handicapped fuck had probably packed his bags as soon as he’d heard that Michael had been killed, and fled the state. That left only Trevor, and to be honest, Trevor didn’t think he could have handled seeing Michael’s coffin being lowered into the ground. 

Trevor still didn’t fully understand how he’d managed to escape the cops after Michael had told him to leave him behind and save himself.  
He remembered running. Running for what felt like at least fifteen miles. He remembered every fiber in his body screaming for him to turn back, to try and save Michael. He remembered speeding a pickup through the woods. He must’ve somehow managed to hijack a parked car, or forced some poor man to give it to him. He remembered parking the car in the middle of nowhere after he’d lost the cops, listening to the radio all night to try to get some information about what had happened back in Ludendorff. He had hoped against hope that the newsreader would tell him that there had been no casualties, none other than the dead cops anyway. That Michael and Brad had been arrested by the police, but that they were still alive. He couldn’t remember a longer night. It had been freezing outside and he’d sat there listening, the engine still running to keep the heater on. 

At six o’clock the morning news had reported about their heist. The reporter had said that some up and coming FIB-agent had taken down the infamous group known for their brutal bank robberies around the Midwest, and that the leader, Michael Townley had been killed during their escape.  
Trevor had gone rigid with shock. He hadn’t been able to hear the rest of the feature, where the woman had said that an accomplice had been wounded, but survived and that another suspect was still on the run. Trevor’s ears rang. Michael was dead. He had died on the ground. Alone. Abandoned by his best friend. Left behind so that Trevor could save his own sorry ass. Trevor had barely had time to open the car door, before he’d puked his guts out in the snow, disgusted with himself.

Trevor now strayed between the graves, secretly hoping that he would never find the right one, that he would have to do this another day, when his eyes fell upon his friend’s name. There it was. The last proof that Michael Townley would never more sit beside him in his car, cruising through the state, with the windows down and the wind in their hair. He would never crouch down next to Trevor, firing his weapon at the advancing cops, adrenaline pumping high. 

_Michael was gone._

Trevor put his hand on the gravestone and stroked it gently. “Hey there, M,” he whispered, hearing how pathetic he sounded. “I’ve brought some beer… Thought we’d get drunk and…” His voice failed him. He dropped to his knees, his hand gripping the cold stone. He breathed hard through his clenched teeth, trying to push the tears back. He was not gonna lose it. Not yet. Michael deserved a proper fucking goodbye and he was not gonna sit here and bawl his eyes out. He was gonna get shit loaded with his friend one last time before he left this godforsaken place behind him once and for all. 

Trevor stood up, lifted one of the six packs out of the bag and opened two beers. He turned one of them upside down and pushed the bottle neck into the ground near the headstone. Then he raised his own beer, as to toast his old running buddy before he downed it, honoring their unspoken tradition upon seeing each other again after a job. He sat down on the ground next to Michael’s grave, threw the now empty bottle over his shoulder and grabbed another one. He drank this one more slowly, his eyes sweeping over the graveyard. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but Michael’s grave was placed at the high end of the cemetery, a bit higher up than many of the others. He couldn’t help but chuckle in his misery.

“Aw, Mikey... Always the attention seeker. Wanting to be admired even in death, you vain fuck.”

Michael had always fancied himself as a top of the notch bad boy, right up there with the likes of John Dillinger and fucking Al Capone. He’d loved the sensation of being a wanted man, the thrill of having people at his mercy with his loaded gun pointed at them. He’d had this power over others, especially women, sweet talking them into doing whatever he wanted them to. And what he wanted was to be looked up to. Admired and feared. Trevor knew that Michael hadn’t chosen the location of his grave, but he couldn’t help but think that it suited his friend perfectly.

“You want another one?” Trevor asked the tombstone as he finished his second beer. “Or perhaps something a little stronger?”

He brought out the bottle of whiskey and held it out, as to show his friend.

“I even bought you the pricey one for your snobbish taste,” Trevor continued, as he poured the expensive liquid over the grave.

“And wait, there’s more,” Trevor muttered, searching his jacket pockets and bringing out a pack of Redwoods. He pressed a cigarette down in the ground, next to the now empty beer bottle.

“I always nagged you about how smoking was bad for you. But you would never fucking listen, M. And on those rare occasions that you actually did listen and tried to quit, you got so fuckin’ cranky that I told you to start again, because I couldn’t handle you bitchin’” Trevor remembered as he sat back on the ground. “Well, I guess you proved me wrong, didn’t you? It didn't turn out to be the smoking that killed you, did it?” He continued, raising the whiskey bottle to his mouth and taking a large gulp.

“All we need now is a pair of big boobs and then we’ve got ourselves a perfect little evening.” Trevor said, as he reflected that this wasn’t so different from how they usually spent time together. Apart from the fact that one of them usually wasn’t buried. “Seeing that we’re lacking some strippers and the fact that I didn’t want to invite that fake whore you call a wife, your fat titties will have to do. Even though they’re six feet under.”

He took another sip, enjoying the warmth spreading through his body. He was beginning to feel drunk. Well, drunker was probably the correct phrasing, seeing as he’d already had a few shots of vodka before coming here. There was no way that he could have handled this sober.

“Remember… remember our first job, Mikey?” Trevor asked with a sly smile, feeling sentimental. “We’d only been running together for a couple of months and you suggested that we’d try for some easy-earned money” Trevor recalled. “Didn’t exactly go as planned, did it? With me ending up in jail because that fucker at the cash desk recognized me. Fuck, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you so mad as when they showed a picture of me on TV, announcing that I was wanted for what went down. Last time we ever left anyone alive if they’d seen our faces, huh?” Trevor mused, lost in his memories.

“And then, when you were there for my release a couple of months later. Fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever see your ugly face again after I was caught. But there you where, leaning against your car as if it was the most natural thing in the world.”

Trevor remembered how his face had split in a wolfish grin as he had seen Michael waiting for him. He hadn’t been sure that he would, seeing as they hadn’t known each other that long before his arrest. After having spent months surrounded with brutal guards and rough criminals, constantly on his watch with all the creepy gangbangers and old brutes in for life looming around, Michael’s happy face and warm, blue eyes seemed like the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. They had driven off in Michael’s car, heading for the nearest strip joint as Michael, just having pulled a successful job by himself, had promised him a night full of booze and boobs on him as a way of making Trevor forget those months of being locked up.

It had been a good night. They had gotten drunk to the verge of blacking out and he’d seen more tits than he could count, with Michael paying every stripper in the club to dance for them. He had managed to get his hands on some coke from a shady guy outside, and they had snorted it on the toilet lid in the restroom, squished together in a small stall. The effect had kicked in almost immediately and as they had made their way out to their booth, Trevor had been overpowered by a sudden urge. He had grabbed Michael’s shoulder and pushed him hard against the wall, pressing their lips together in an awkward attempt of a kiss. Michael had shoved him off, tensing slightly as he’d waited for his friend to flare up. They had eyed each other cautiously for a second, and then started laughing. Michael had placed his arm over Trevor’s shoulder and said “A bar full of beautiful girls with huge tits, and you try to kiss _me_. Prison fucked you up, man.”

Neither of them had brought up what happened at the strip club the next day. Michael, probably because he’d thought that Trevor had just been high. Trevor, because he had no idea what had actually given him the courage to kiss Michael in the first place. He had thought about doing it for a long time, but never dared, afraid to push the only person alive who seemed to give a fuck about him, away. There had always been something about Michael. Some magnetic force that had pulled at Trevor. Maybe it was the way he always took control, never asking, always _making_ people do what he wanted them to. Maybe it was the fact that he, like Trevor, could switch from laughing one minute to fighting the next. It could be the way he never ever missed a shot with his rifle, his muscles tensed under his shirt as he took out one guy after the other. What the fuck did Trevor know? He only knew that something was drawing him to Michael.

He had thought about what had happened at the strip club a lot for the next couple of days, as they drove around in their car, trying to figure out where to next plan a job. Trevor Philips had had sex with guys before. Quite a few of them over the last couple of months actually, seeing that things easily got a bit lonely in prison. But then it had been a quick blowjob or a fast fuck behind a fence in the yard, never kissing or any other form of affectionate actions. But Trevor had wanted to kiss Michael, to touch him, actually felt an urge to do so, and that was something that he couldn’t wrap his head around. Eventually, Trevor had discarded it as just something due to being shit loaded and high for the first time in months.

It hadn’t been until a couple of weeks later, when Trevor felt it again. They had successfully robbed a jewelry store in the next town over. As this was their first job since Trevor’s release, they had decided to celebrate instead of laying low. The alcohol had flowed as usual and as they had made their way back to their car to make for the motel they were staying in, Trevor had once again been overcome with the urge to kiss his friend. He had grabbed Michael’s arm in a deserted alley and pushed him up against a wall. Before his friend had had time to react, Trevor had pressed their lips together, pinning Michael’s right arm above his head with one hand, using the other to unzip the other man's jeans before he shoved it down his boxers. As Michael had recovered from the shock, he had started to try and shove Trevor away with his free hand, growling “Get the fuck off me, T!” But the objection had faded into a low moan as Trevor’s hand had reached his length and started to jerk it. Trevor had used the opportunity to press his tongue into Michael’s mouth as he ground their bodies together. After a while, Michael’s left hand had stopped trying to push Trevor off him, and he had instead gripped his friend’s jacket, pulling him closer. Trevor’s lips had left Michael’s as he instead moved them to his neck, biting and licking, breathing heavy against the soft skin.

Michael’s moans had escalated as he grew harder. Trevor’s hand had worked furiously over his shaft, occasionally letting his thumb stroke over the sensitive head. After only a few minutes, Michael had panted that he was close. Trevor had moved his lips back to his friend’s mouth, kissing him fiercely as Michael began to shudder. Trevor had finished him off, continuing his strokes as Michael came over his hand, working him through the orgasm. He had wiped the cum off on his trousers before he had let his gaze meet Michaels, seeing something he couldn’t quite read in those big, ice blue eyes. Neither of them had said anything.

The same thing had happened a few weeks later, after they had finished yet another job. They had just reached their motel room door when Trevor had lain a hand on Michael’s shoulder, breathing down his neck. They had barely been able to shut the door behind them as they had been too busy biting each other’s lips and groping one another. Trevor had pushed Michael down on the bed and leant forward, starting to undo his pants and taking them, and the boxers underneath, off. As he had lain down beside Michael, he had gripped his hard on and started to jack it, grinning as the other man had moaned loudly. He had worked the length fast, his lips now moving over Michael’s neck when, to his own thrill, he had felt his friend’s fingers loosening his own belt and unzipping his fly. “Take off your pants, T.” Michael had whispered and Trevor hadn’t been late in obeying his friend’s request. He had groaned loudly when Michael’s fingers had closed around his shaft. His breathing had been hard as they jerked each other frantically, moaning in each other’s ears. 

After a while, Trevor had let go of his grip on Michael and sat up, earning a moaning protest to which he just chuckled low in response. He had then bent down and let his tongue run along his friend's erection, smiling slightly as Michael had let out a half strangled, desperate moan. He had continued to lick the head, gripping the base with his hand and stroking it for a while, egged on by his friend’s groans. After a short while he had wrapped his lips around the length, taking it in as deep as he could without gagging. Michael had arched his back and let his fingers run through Trevor’s hair, gripping it and beginning to push Trevor’s head up and down as to control the pace. Trevor had worked the length with lips and tongue, giving his all. As he had started to hum softly, Michael’s breath had caught in his throat as he moaned loudly.

“Fuck, T. I’m coming,” Michael had hissed through his teeth as his grip on Trevor's hair had tightened. Trevor had slowed his pace when he felt the hot, thick cum in the back of his throat, swallowing it as Michael’s moans echoed through the room. When he had heard his friend exhale with a shudder, he had sat up, a sly grin playing over his lips. He had straddled Michael’s hips and Michael had moved his hand back to Trevor’s still aching hard on and continued jacking. Trevor had groaned Michael’s name loudly in his friend’s ear as he stroked him to completion. 

And so a pattern had been established. Whenever they had had too much to drink, or had gotten away with a job, or were bored they would end up in bed, behind a dumpster or in the back seat of a car, together.

They never defined what this meant to each other. Michael rarely thought about it, other than when he was horny. Trevor, content with their undefined whatever-it-was, didn’t waste much energy on it either, until the day that Michael met Amanda. He was used to sharing Michael with different girls. Hell, he had a few girls himself from time to time, but no one ever lasted more than a night or two before either of them got bored. He thought it would be the same with Amanda, seeing as that was how it usually worked when Michael brought home a stripper. This one, however, didn’t seem to bore Michael. As the days turned into weeks, and he still had to share his best friend, Trevor could feel the jealousy rage in him. It wasn't that he was in love with Michael. He wasn't. No, he just didn’t want that bitch to steal all of Michael’s attention. 

Barely a couple of months into their relationship, Amanda had gotten pregnant. Michael had proposed and they had started planning the wedding. Trevor had naturally been asked to be the best man and he’d agreed. At the reception, just before they had started to cut the wedding cake, Trevor had dragged Michael into the restroom and blown him. After that he’d gotten loaded and blacked out in the coat room.

As Amanda and Michael’s new life started to settle, Trevor and Michael’s relationship became more strained. They still ended up in bed together, though it happened more rarely. And nowadays it usually started with them taunting each other (Trevor made a lot of comments about Amanda being a fake whore, Michael retorted with some comment about Trevor’s meth addiction) or them starting to fight each other, until one of them shoved the other one up against a wall.

By spending most of their time together at Trevor’s, since Amanda rarely admitted Trevor inside her house, they managed to keep their actions a secret from her. When they had met Lester and later on, Brad they had succeeded in keeping it from them as well. At least at first. But over the years their crew must have noticed Michael’s stares at Trevor over the bar when they were out getting drunk together, and Trevor’s habit of always keeping his hands occupied whenever Michael was around, never trusting himself not to touch him. If Lester and Brad knew, they kept it to themselves at least.

Over the years to come, their new way of life had started to grow on Trevor. Sure, he would rather had pushed Amanda from a mountain top, but since he still had some of Michael’s attention it was still pretty good. He had loved being “Uncle T” to those brats as well. It had felt almost like having a family of his own.

Trevor sighed where he sat, on the cold, slightly wet grass in the cemetery. He just felt so lost without his companion. As the sky grew darker, he downed beer after beer, remembering small bits and pieces of their years together.

“You want another beer?” Trevor asked as the clock neared 3 a.m., holding out the Pibswasser in front of him. “But that’s it. Last one. You always get up to no good when you’re drunk, Mikey.”

As he downed the last of his own beer, he shuddered, painful memories filling his head.

“The fuck did we have to do that fuckin job for?” He growled at the tombstone, a desperate note in his voice. “Even Lester thought it was a bad idea, and he’s never been one to chicken out. But no, you had gotten your head all wrapped in it, and I just wanted to blow off some steam and was glad of not having to pay that crippled motherfucker his usual twenty percent and only obliged.” He had tears in his eyes again, and this time he didn’t even try to blink them away. “I should have fuckin set my foot down and taken Lester’s side. Then we’d been sitting together in my trailer now, the four of us, with you and Brad bitchin’ and Lester telling us to keep it down as he’d doze off on the couch.”

Trevor had tried to grasp what went wrong that day, working through every detail he could remember. It had all gone so smoothly until that security guard had pulled his gun and pointed it to Michael’s head. Michael, being the sucker for dramatic speeches that he was, had cited that stupid, cheesy movie quote he’d loved so much. Trevor, furious that anyone dared pointing a gun at his best friend, had shot the guard in the head. He had thought that they really would get away with it as they’d escaped the police, even after they’d crashed the car. The chopper was supposed to be only a few minutes away, but everything had fallen apart as Brad had gotten shot. Trevor, his instinct reacting for him, had hid behind a dumpster, adrenaline pumping through him before he’d realized that Michael hadn’t followed him. Then the rush had turned into pure horror as he had seen his best friend fall to the ground.

“You had to check on Brad, M? Had to check on that fuckin’ brute, not caring that you made yourself an easy target, didn’t you? Why the fuck didn’t you hide? You didn't even get along with Brad anymore. Why the fuck wouldn’t you just leave him on the ground and save yourself. And why the fuck wasn’t the fuckin’ chopper there?”

It did not add up, Trevor thought for the hundredth time. Michael was always, _always_ so fuckin’ thorough with his jobs. He planned every detail, especially their getaway vehicle. If Michael said that he’d arranged for a chopper to pick them up, then there would be a chopper waiting for them, period. But there hadn’t been. Somehow, they had been set up, and if Trevor ever got his hands on the one responsible for that, he would rip him apart with his own hands, limb by limb. 

As the night turned into dawn, Trevor finished the last of the beer and finally stood up on wobbly legs. As he placed his hand on the cold stone, stroking it one last time, taking his final farewell of his friend, his eyes read the words etched under Michael’s name for the first time. 

_Husband. Father. Friend._

Three words. Nothing more.

Trevor felt anger well up inside him. Those feeble words didn’t even start to describe his fallen comrade. Michael had been more than a friend to him. He had been his running buddy, his mate, his companion, his partner, his lover. His brother. 

The tombstone should be a fucking salutation to his dead friend. A monument stating that here lay a legend. A warrior. _A fucking hero._

But nothing more than those puny words etched into the stone, would tell the world what a great man Michael Townley had been or what he had meant to Trevor. Those words was the only thing he got.

“Goodbye Mikey,” Trevor whispered, gripping the stone tight, before letting go, turning around and making for the gate without looking back. He felt a familiar sense of guilt in his stomach as he, for the second time, left his best friend behind.

**Author's Note:**

> I had this image of Trevor saying good bye to Michael in his own way. Got some inspiration from a Swedish movie called "Johan Falk: Kodnamn Lisa". Had to put in some smut as well =)
> 
> This is the first fic I've ever published. Please feel free to leave comment if you liked (or didn't like) it.


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